


Not For Everybody

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-26
Updated: 2007-03-26
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: The sign above the door saidMagic Theaterand below it, in letters a burning neon that lit the narrow alley read another sign.Not For Everybody.





	Not For Everybody

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: _This is where reading_ Steppenwolf _all night and discussing it all day will get you._  


* * *

The sign above the door said **Magic Theater** and below it, in letters a burning neon that lit the narrow alley read another sign. **Not For Everybody.** Brian was drunk enough to blink a few times at that.  
  
What the fuck?  
  
But, no, even through the light rain and fog and his wavering vision, the sign was still there.  
  
Stumbling the couple extra steps, he grabbed the thick, wrought iron handle in both hands and pulled. Nothing. The thick wooden door was firmly closed. He tried again, put all his weight into it this time, pulled until his muscles strained, but still the fucking door didn't open. He pulled again and again until his frustration made the whiskey in his veins simmer. Giving up with a growl, he kicked it, but his Gucci shoes were no match for the immovable door.  
  
"Shit! Fuck!" He hit the door with his palm even as pain throbbed from his foot up his shin. An amused snort bounced off the brick walls and he twisted at the bright sound, so out of place among the overflowing dumpsters and scampering rats.  
  
The source of the noise was equally as out of place. Gleaming hair, blonder then anything Lindsey's hairdresser could ever hope to achieve, caught the wayward street light. Full sensual lips quirked around a smoldering cigarette. A hip perched insolently against the crumbling brick edifice. As Brian watched, the girl- boy?- took a long, grateful drag on the cigarette and blew out, tendrils of smoke escaping the small, upturned nose and, for a split second, there was an air of danger, enough that Brian felt his cock harden with interest. Just as suddenly as it had come, the mood shifted as the stranger's mouth stretched in a friendly grin.  
  
"No way you're getting in there."  
  
And now Brian was back to his original problem- the door.  
  
"And why the fuck not?"  
  
Rather then answering, the stranger gestured with a hand to something behind Brian. When he turned, letters were strewn across the ground, having fallen from their place above the door, and now the sign read **For Madmen Only.**  
  
"You're obviously not mad enough," the stranger mused.  
  
"I'm getting there." Brian smacked the door with an irritated hand. "How the fuck does anyone get in?"  
  
"If you have to ask, you're not ready to know." A laugh as the cigarette was dropped to the ground, stomped out. "Come on, Brian, forget about the door." A head toss toward a bar across the street. "Buy me a drink, instead."  
  
He was two steps into walking in the indicated direction before an uneasy dread unfurled up his spine. He hadn't mention his name, how the fuck did this guy/girl/thing know it? In a rush, his innate arrogance abandoned him and he was stumbling backward, away from the pale hand that shot out to steady his drunken sway.  
  
"I can't- I have to get back. My wife-"  
  
"Lindsay," the stranger nodded in calm understanding.  
  
"My kid-"  
  
"Gus," the stranger offered, and that knowledge was too much, too inexplicable for Brian to handle at his level of intoxication.  
  
To hell with mysterious doors and changing neon signs. This thing knew his son's name. Without another word, he lurched away, got into his haphazardly parked Jeep and peeled away. Back to his wife and his kid and the hell that was suburban living but, for once, he almost didn't mind.  
  
The next morning Brian woke a half hour before his alarm, as usual, to the sounds of Gus' childish chattering and Lindz's half-hearted attempts to get him to lower his voice, "Before you wake Daddy." In true Kinney fashion, Gus ignored his mother and didn't even pause before continuing his barely coherent story.  
  
Brian blearily rolled out of bed, as usual, and there was a brief moment, as his brain flipped from sleep to wakefulness, that it seemed like there was something important he was forgetting about, but he shrugged it off easily and went about his daily routine.  
  
It wasn't until he was in the Jeep, driving away from the somnolent community of white picket fences toward Pittsburgh-proper, that he remember glinting hair and a wide, unburdened grin.  
  
***  
  
This time he approached the alley with long, purposeful strides, the nervousness from the night before melted into anger. He was fucking Brian Kinney, and no androgynous little shit, no matter how omnipotent, was going to make him into some scared, pathetic little pussy.  
  
Before he got there, though, he saw a flash of bright hair disappearing into a bar across the street. The same one he had almost gone in the night before. Dashing after, he was nearly clipped by a car and he answered the blaring horn with a shout and a sneer.  
  
The bar itself was as poorly lit and grimy as the outside promised. A jukebox in the corner crooned about lost love and broken hearts. The smattering of patrons were a somber, motley crowd, each keeping to himself and treated their drinks with an almost religious reverence.  
  
If he hoped to surprise the familiar stranger, he was quickly disappointed as his appearance was met with little reaction. Instead, the stranger caught the attention of the bartender with a hand and said "Some whiskey for Mr. Kinney" before taking a dainty sip of beer.  
  
Brian accepted the glass and with a grimace wiped the smudged and dirty glass with his sleeve. When that proved to be utterly useless, he deliberately set the glass to one side. The stranger watched the scene wordlessly and, when Brian met amused blue eyes, his grunted "What?" was met with a laugh and a shaking head.  
  
A silence descended and it was long enough and awkward enough that Brian was tempted to say fuck it and leave but then the stranger began to speak.  
  
"So, you want to get into the Magic Theater."  
  
Brian didn't respond, but the stranger continued. "I don't blame you. When I first saw the sign I wanted to get in, too. Find out what it was all about. And God knows I needed something new and exciting in my life. Living in the suburbs. Two story house. Two car garage. A garden in the front yard, swing set in the back, and a fence keeping everything nice and orderly. Monotonous. Boring. Stop me if any of this sounds familiar."  
  
A hand irritably brushed away hair that had fallen down a pale cheekbone and the gesture was so undeniably feminine that Brian was _certain_ that the person in front of him was a girl. But then he caught the strong, unflinching gaze and she seemed to transform into a he before Brian's eyes.  
  
"You don't know how it happened, but you feel trapped in a life you know you didn't choose. I was in that place because it was the life my parents made for me but you- you _built_ that life yourself. You went to college and got the job and married the girl and have the child and now you feel like there's nothing left but to count down the years until it's all over."  
  
The stranger stopped long enough to take another sip of beer and continued in a voice that was filled with a quiet intensity, even as they shifted nearer.  
  
"Every morning is the same, every day is the same, every evening is the same. And even though you go out and try to drink away the boredom, even that's become stale. Predictable."  
  
Now the stranger was practically whispering in Brian's ear, as if what was being said was meant for Brian, and only Brian. He could feel each inhale against his neck  
  
"But that's not who you are, not really. And you know it. You-"  
  
The nearness was intoxicating and, before he could think about what he was doing, where he was, Brian captured the moving lips with his, pulling the lithe body against his and if it was a guy, a girl, it didn't matter because Brian knew he needed this. This body. This mouth.  
  
The stranger broke away from the kiss, peels of laughter ringing through the dim and dreary bar, though no one seemed to notice.  
  
"And now, didn't that feel good? To do something completely new and different?"  
  
Brian was still reeling from what had happened. His lungs burned, even though he was still breathing. His mind was spinning, even though he didn't have a thought in his head. "What the fuck are you?"  
  
"For now, I'm what you want."  
  
Brian shook his head. "I can't even tell if you're a-"  
  
"Guess," he was told with a laugh.  
  
That was all the permission Brian needed. Unceremoniously he dropped his hand in the stranger's lap and purposefully groped between splayed thighs. His hand met a firm hardness that twitched at his touch.  
  
The stranger- the _boy_ in front of him groaned and tipped back his head. His eyes fluttered closed and Brian shot one quick look around him. Still, no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to them, like they had slipped into a different place, one where they could see everyone around them, but no one could see them.  
  
After that, Brian didn't hesitate, just unzipped and unbuttoned until he was met with a straining cock and an encouraging moan. He stared at his hand in fascination as it closed firmly and stroked out a rhythm that was harsh, almost punishing in it's fervor. The boy's face contorted, mouth opening and closing, skin growing slick with the first traces of sweat, until his thighs shook and he was coming.  
  
A hot splash that Brian felt between his fingers, another that landed on the grimy bar in front of them, and the boy was still. His harsh breaths filled the space and for long moments neither of the moved: the boy retraining his lungs, Brian parting and closing his fingers until the come became tacky.  
  
The jukebox continued to croon.  
  
"That was hot," the boy said with a disbelieving shake of his head. He cleaned himself off with a stack of napkins on the bar and offered it to Brian, tucking himself back into his jeans as Brian automatically took what was offered him and wiped his fingers clean.  
  
The boy chugged the rest of his beer and jumped off the bar stool. Leaning over, he brushed a chaste kiss across Brian's lips and followed it with a playful lick.  
  
"Later."  
  
And he was walking to the door, and, with a shake of his perky ass, was gone, swallowed by the night. A rustle had Brian whipping his head around, but it was only the bartender, wiping the come off the faux wood as if it was nothing more then a vodka spill.  
  
"Did you need anything else, sir?"  
  
Brian shook his head and, with a practiced hand, tossed back the whisky. Fuck the grime. After all that, he needed to feel the familiar burn hit his stomach.  
  
***  
  
After that, he had a new routine, but this one was infinitely more interesting then the old one. His days became long, tedious preludes to the night. After dinner he kissed his son and, with his customary "See you, Sonnyboy," left his life behind.  
  
Parking by the alley, he would cast a quick glance at the gothic door with it's gleaming letters, but it remained firmly shut to him. It didn't matter. The boy was always far more welcoming.  
  
Sometimes they would meet in the street, the boy finishing his cigarette and greeting Brian with a kiss thick with smoke. Other times, the boy would be at the bar drinking a beer- always a beer- and Brian wouldn't bother with niceties, would grab the boy's shoulder and haul him to the restroom.  
  
Regardless of how it all began, the results were the same. The slamming of the lock. The boy's arms, surprisingly strong, wrapped around his neck, pulling him into prolonged, sloppy, wet kisses. The boy's body stretched along his, writhing and grinding to some secret rhythm that never failed to make Brian's cock heavy and needy.  
  
Pink lips wrapped around his dick, sucking, bringing Brian to the brink of orgasm, falling away only to bring him close again, and again, until he was out of his mind with want. Waist bent, ass waiting for Brian's cock, the boy accepting every inch with an appreciative whine until he was buried, lost, in that tight and greedy hole. Head tossed back onto Brian's shoulder, hair clumped with sweat.  
  
Afterwards, as they shared a cigarette, Brian would try and coax more information from the boy that was, more and more, becoming the center of his world.  
  
"At least tell me your name."  
  
"Why? I kind of like you thinking of me as 'the boy.'"  
  
"Yeah, well, it's making me feel like an old perv."  
  
"Oh, Brian," he would sigh with humor and, with an affectionate kiss, say "You _are_ an old perv."  
  
And, really, there was no way to respond to that but with a smack upside a blond head.  
  
His giggle was fast becoming a sound that Brian craved. Even during the mind-numbing hours spent at work, pretending to be a productive member of society, Brian would think of that giggle and have to excuse himself midway through a presentation to jerk off.  
  
His co-workers started to notice. They whispered and, soon, not even his loyal secretary Cynthia could protect him from the wrath of the higher ups.  
  
At home Lindsay was a wreck. His usually quiet and quiescent wife was starting to worry. He wasn't eating, he was staying out until dawn and, though she never said it, he suspected that she noticed him smelling like fuck every time he finally got home.  
  
His life, the one he had spent years building for himself, was fast crumbling around him. But he couldn't care. All he cared about was bright eyes, a quicksilver smile, and a killer ass.  
  
Even as Lindsay ranted and threw vases and dishes and cried, he couldn't focus on her words. Instead, his eyes flickered to check the clock as she raged against him. When he looked at her again, it was like the fight had fast forwarded when he hadn't noticed and she was slumped, defeated. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke about taking Gus and going to her parents' and it was for the best. Brian nodded uncomprehendingly and, when the clock clicked nine, walked out the door to his waiting Jeep.  
  
The bar was just the same as always, with one notable exception. The boy wasn't there. Heart hammering, Brian checked the jukebox, the restroom, the dim corner tables, but he was nowhere to be found.  
  
"Hey, guy," the bartender called out, indicating with a tilt of his head. "Justin said he'd meet you across the street."  
  
Brian stepped out into the night.  
  
It was darker then usual, as if all the streetlights had burned out. In contrast, the sharp neon across the street cut through the night, searing Brian's vision.  
  
 **For Madmen Only.**  
  
The door was open, waiting for him and, as he stepped closer he could hear a strange, familiar sound. A pulsing beat that he realized was in every look the boy- _Justin_ \- had given him. A rhythm that followed every step Justin took and was reflected in his body every time they fucked.  
  
The _thumpa thumpa_ reverberated in Brian's bones, shivered across his skin, as he finally- _finally_ \- crossed the Magic Theater's threshold.


End file.
